Wounds
by amberpire
Summary: If Carly is a ghost, then Sam is a haunted house. ;Sam/Carly;


_Today you were far away_  
><em>and I didn't ask you why<em>  
><em>What could I say?<em>  
><em>I was far away<em>  
><em>You just walked away<em>  
><em>and I just watched you<em>  
><em>What could I say?<em>

**_How close am I to losing you?_**

About Today **\\** The National

* * *

><p><strong>March 9th, 2011<strong>

She twists her fingers in her hair and yanks like she's trying to tear a hook out of the yawning mouth of a lifeless fish and the pain is nonentity, just dull blips scorching her skull. It's nothing, it's absolutely nothing (_like you_) to the wound under her skin that's aching and sore and pulsing purple and red, the jaws of her ribs clenched tight about her prisoner lungs. The cotton of her pillowcase scrapes her teeth as she bites down, a creak grinding against the inside of her ear. The weeping scar buried inside of her erupts and a sound too strangled to even be a scream slashes through her already raw throat. She wonders how long she's been here, laying like this, her body caved in like an avalanche demolished what was left of her.

Her sheets are rumpled and it's not from sleep. It's from her thrashing legs, her elbows trying to dig into the mattress as she violates her bed. It's silent. It doesn't complain, it doesn't ask her to stop, it doesn't run away. It's like it understands (_no one understands_) that she has to do this, a willing punching bag for her sore fists as they sail down again and again. Each blow is punctuated by a name, a name she hates (_you love_) that rips off more and more pieces of her as it flies off of her tongue, littering the sheets. It's years, to her, writhing like a dying snake upon that brutalized bed, no longer a sea of comfort and dreams but pain and nightmares. But it's only a few hours of sweat popping along her brow, of straining arms and legs, of sobs that choke inside of her and brim over the walls of her room.

Samantha Puckett (_yes, you_) abuses her mattress until the burning of her muscles drowns out the pulse of the wound under her skin, the one that whispers slimy and dark, _CarlyCarlyCarly_.

/

**March 10th, 2011**

She hasn't touched her food. She thinks in some distant part of the mind that used to be hers that there's a joke in here somewhere - you know something's wrong with Sam when she won't even eat! - and some sick part of her laughs bitterly, the taste of unsweetened chocolate settling on the back of her tongue. She's never noticed it before, but the lunch tables are so white it hurts her eyes and makes her think of knee caps, the circular surfaces scattered like a disjointed skeleton. This place is a damn graveyard anymore.

(_Before you know it, you'll be writing poetry on your wrists and dying your hair black_.)

It's the squeaking of her jaw that alarms her of her grinding teeth. She forces herself to relax, shoving her discolored, pathetic excuse for edible food across the table before slumping on the stark white structure. The scene is sideways now: que a cliche lunch clip from any high school movie, chatty tables filled with laughter and gossip, chairs scraping the blue linoleum, sick fluorescent lights giving everyone a pale tinge. Through the small gaps of blonde curls, Sam watches them, pink girls and beige boys, yellow highlights, a puddle of spilled milk and heads ducking close to whisper as eyes and fingers shift in her direction.

She doesn't see him approach, which is weird, because Sam rarely leaves her guard down long enough to be surprised, especially by someone like Freddie. Suddenly he's just there, his shirt a green and yellow striped wall obscuring the rest of the room. He's so tall now, she thinks, and she can't see his face from this angle - she knows it's him without having to see it, from his skin tone and his black little hairs on his forearms and (_you think about how they flexed around her waist_-)

She doesn't move for several moments even though he's coughed pointedly, a clear social cue that she's supposed to address him now, but she just watches her hair puff out in gold threads as she exhales hard. Her eyes hover on his wrists, watches his fingers curl in and out, and fuck, he touched her with those sweaty, clumsy, soft little things. A muscle in her eyebrow twitches. Hands shouldn't be soft. They should have little patches of rough, tough skin, to prove that you've actually done something with them.

(_Hands like yours_.) Not hands like Freddie's.

"Sam."

Her eyes roll hard in the back of her head. They close firmly, hidden by her mop of hair. Her arms are crooked walls around her, her breath catching in the fold of her elbow and swimming back to her nose. Recycling the same air, Sam feels the ache under her sternum pulse heavily. (_Ow_.) And when he says nothing more and the silence is filled with chanting gossip, Sam finally raises her head from the safety of her arms and allows her hair to slip out of the way. Black pit pupils constrict hard as they adjust to the too-white lights behind Freddie, his brown eyes struggling to hold hers.

The apple in his throat bobs hard before he speaks again. "Stay away from Carly."

Her name is a physical blow. Sam's body jolts like that two syllable chunk of sound is a baseball bat, a knife, a bullet, right in the center of the disguised wound. This time, it's her throat that struggles to complete her dry swallow. "Are you insinuating that I'm doing anything but that?" The words are strong despite the way her name has impacted her brain, her body, the wound.

Freddie's mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish before slamming shut with a click. Sam knows he's never been good at confrontation - she's honestly surprised he made it this far without peeing his pants, running away, or throwing up. He's always been afraid of her and she thought now, living in the After, he would have gone out of his way to make sure he avoided her as much as possible. Sam's right eyebrow perks at him, her lips pressed in a flat line. She hopes he does something crazy, if just so she can see a sliver of whatever it is her best friend (_your ex best friend_) sees in him. For some reason, she hopes he hits her. She wants him to hit her. It would feel amazing compared to the agony within her bones.

"You've put her through a lot of chizz, Sam. Don't you get that?"

Sam's eyes narrow and whatever is thickening in them must be more frightening than she planned because Freddie is sliding his foot back. He stops his retreat, however, thrusting his chin up, and suddenly Sam is the one that wants to hit him, punch him, kick him, and then it makes sense why Freddie is doing this here, now.

The herd of children behind him are just that - cattle, but they're his safety net. He knows how fragile her state at school is. One more major slip up and the principal will have to stop being nice. She can't beat him up here with a hundred witnesses watching. And, oh, are they watching. Sam's eyes detach from Freddie to glare daggers at the audience, the roar of laughter and conversation considerably quieter now that she's paying attention.

"Just stay away from her, okay? Just let us move -"

Sam's fist slams on the table. It's loud in the whispering lunch room and what little noise there had been is snuffed out as Sam's head raises fully to meet Freddie's startled gaze straight on. Her teeth grit hard. Us, he said. Them. Him and Carly. As if they were a single entity, all in one, the same God damn person. Sam feels her eye twitch, her knuckles paling white. "Or what, Benson?" Her chin juts out. "Or _what_?"

Freddie's hands are shaking, but unlike Sam, it's not with fury. It's with fear. He's always been afraid of her. "J-Just, just -"

"I haven't had any contact with her in nineteen days." (_You know, you've been counting._) "I don't know what more you want, Freddie. Unless you think I should transfer schools or move to Belgium or live in the space station. How far away do I have to be before you're happy with the distance?" Sam's eyes are drilling holes in Freddie's and she can see the fight or flight options weighing in the wheels of his brain. When she speaks again, her teeth are bared (_like a mangy mutt_). "I've given her what she wants. Now stay away from _me_."

Sam stands. Freddie flinches backward and somewhere behind him guys are laughing. She leaves her untouched food to rot on the table as she thunders out of the lunchroom. Mooing kids turn their heads after her and beneath her shirt, her flesh, her bones and veins, there's the wound ripping wider, longer, and Sam can't breathe and she swings into the nearest bathroom with drums in her ears and her shoulder booms into that of a freshman who scrambles out of the way, calls her a dyke as Sam flings into the closest stall and tries to puke but its just acid scalding the back of her tongue.

It smells like cheap cotton candy perfume and urine. Sam closes her eyes and thinks of Before.

/

**November 31st, 2010**

The dip of her spine disappears behind a zipper and blue sequins. Sam watches Carly's shoulder blades dip and twist as the struggles to finish it herself. The blonde is quick to assist her, warm fingertips greeting an even warmer back as she tugs the last few inches on her own. Carly smiles over her shoulder, brown hair spilling over sun kissed skin as she spins to face Sam, hands bracing on her narrow hips.

"Is blue my color?"

Sam's lips pull into a wide smile, moving back again to plop on the bench. Honestly, every color is Carly's color. Carly could make seventies couch orange and toilet bowl brown an 'in' thing. This dress is a dark teal, heart shaped at the chest, sprinkled with blue and white beads fashioned to look like jewels. It's like a spilled treasure chest at the bottom of a pond. "You're beautiful," Sam says, her legs split open because she's anything if not a tomboy.

"The dress, Puckett. Winter ball. Focus."

The blonde licks her lips, her hands resting on the inside of her thighs. She watches Carly's eyes dart down to them pointedly, black brows raising. Sam can see her pupils dilate from where she's sitting. "It's pretty hard to do that when you insist on undressing in front of me."

"I think you need to see a doctor for that chronic boner of yours."

"I think you need to get over here."

Sam's heart does silly things when Carly bites her lip at her. Her fingers gather the skirt of the dress and Sam's legs close so Carly can straddle them, hips nicely fitting against her own. The poofy material rests against Sam's chest. Blue eyes smolder into brown as her hands slip beneath the sequined ocean. The brunette jumps when Sam's hot fingertips meet the inside of her knees. Sam watches the breath rush out of her parted, suddenly glossy lips.

"We're in a dressing room, you know."

"Indeed."

"In public."

"Correct." Sam's palm flattens along Carly's thigh, a breathless chuckle escaping her when Carly's eyelids flutter. "Do you want me to to stop?"

Pearls of teeth gnaw at the plump, pink flesh of Carly's lower lip. Her white arms circle around Sam's neck, under her thick mane of blonde hair. She smells like woman and Shay. "Mm, no," Carly whispers, and then her hips are jerking because Sam's fingers glide over damp panties. A soft whine escapes Carly's throat before Sam captures it in a kiss, swallowing the noise, pressing two fingertips against her clothed core. Carly jerks again, a string being pulled, and a barely audible moan rattles her chest when Sam pulls back to breathe. Carly's eyes are open, pupils blown open, lids heavy, and there goes Sam's heart again, seizing beneath her ribcage.

Sam's fingers easily shift the cotton panties out of the way to slip over wet lips, a soft mound of hair. Carly whimpers, readjusting her hips to gain a better angle. Her face disappears into Sam's neck where her teeth find skin and tug. Sam gasps, watching once more as Carly's shoulders shift like hidden wings under the soft skin. Her thumb flicks over a hardened clit, Carly's cries muffled by a bruise she clamps above the blonde's jugular. Carly's hips ride against her hand, muscles tightening as Sam slips one finger inside of her, swiftly followed by another when Carly's voice manages to sigh, "More."

Sam doesn't even notice the eight crescent moons being pinched into her ribs through her shirt when Carly comes, all soft whines and trembling hips. It's just her heavy breath against her collar and Sam turning her lips to the other girl's ear and kissing it.

"I love you," Sam says.

Carly turns to stone for several long moments and when she finally does meet her best friend's eyes, it's not with the soothing expression one should give after making love. (_At least, that's what you thought it was_.)

No. It's scared.

Carly doesn't buy the dress.

A scratch begins to itch under Sam's skin.

/

**March 12th, 2011**

(_It's calling out for you_.)

Sam's fingers wrap around the cold, brown neck of the glass bottle and lifts it, bringing it to her face. It isn't her first choice. She actually thinks beer tastes disgusting. She's more of a vodka and orange juice or rum and coke or even wine kind of girl, but her mother has always preferred beer. Sam thinks that's probably because her dad liked beer and he always smelled of it and probably tasted like it, too, and when he died her mom started stocking it up like she was trying to condense his entire life into aluminum cans of bitter, foul liquid.

The refrigerator door shuts with the sound of tinkling glass. Sam's fingers noose tightly about the bottle as she swings out of her kitchen, her nose crinkling as a wave of cigarette smoke wafts into the hallway from her mother's room, accompanied by the high pitched, false scream of a terrified teenager crackling through the static of their only television. She ducks into her bedroom and shuts the door, the throw of the lock as automatic as breathing. Sinking before her computer, one that Freddie had built years ago but had no use for, which, in other words, meant that Sam had forced him to give it to her, Sam lazily pulls up her Facebook with Internet she's stealing from one of the neighboring apartments. Freddie isn't the only one who is tech savvy.

There's a little red '1' by her message inbox. Sam lifts the now open beer to her lips and takes a deep breath - ugh. She takes a quick swig anyway, cringing as it freezes the inside of her throat. She clicks on the notification.

_Carly Shay has sent you a message._

Sam nearly drops the beer. It slides into her lap, her hands reaching for it desperately before it can soak the keyboard. Her fingers can't click fast enough, opening the new page. Her heart is in her ears, slamming against her eardrums as blue eyes eagerly soak up the words (_God, you really are pathetic, aren't you_?).

_Hey, we need to talk. Meet me at the park in an hour?_

The deja vu is so strong, it almost makes her sick.

The message was sent twenty minutes ago. That's plenty of time to get to the park - and Carly didn't even have to specify, she knew which park she was talking about. It was the park. The only park.

Sam's eyes drift back to her beer. It promised a dull numbness for a few hours at most. It would taste terrible, and after a few of them she would probably get a headache. But Carly -

The wound pulses. She touches her chest as she takes another long drink, her tongue recoiling as the taste swims in her mouth. With a loud thunk, she sets it on the computer tower. She stares at the message for a long time, her hands in her lap. Carly hasn't spoken to her in twenty-two days. They don't look at each other in the hallway. They don't acknowledge each other in the class they have together. They do not exist to one another. Carly Shay does not exist in Sam's world anymore. She's like some imaginary friend she had when she was a kid. Never solid, never real. Just a ghost.

She grabs her coat on the way out, ignoring the screech of her mother asking her where she's going. She clunks down the stairs and out into a gray Saturday afternoon. Pausing on the sidewalk, the blonde takes a moment to just breathe. And see. And be.

If Carly is a ghost, then Sam is a haunted house, and her memories are a poltergeist tearing everything apart within her bones. She spins on her heel and starts toward the park. There's a part of her, another time, another Sam, telling her that it's pathetic that she's going to get there so early, that she's going at all, that she dare let anyone affect her the way Carly did -does, will.

Sam's fingers coil in her pockets. Whatever. If there's one thing she's done denying, it's the way she feels about Carly. The way she's always felt about Carly. Her chin disappears behind the collar of her jacket. Maybe it's her pessimistic attitude she's developed over the past few months, but the usual gray Seattle seems even more bleak than usual. Everything is colorless and bland, like everything was sketched in pencil, and the artist thought that this little corner of the earth had earned no color. The only colors that really mattered to Sam anymore was chocolate irises, a peach waist, pink-petal lips, and chestnut hair. And they had been taken away from her (_not taken, no, she left_), so now all Sam had is her lifeless yellow locks and blue eyes that might as well have been taken right out of a doll, for as much emotion that came out of them at this point.

The park greets her, empty. Sam stands on the edge of it, a breeze kissing her cheeks cold, before she makes her way to a lone bench on the opposite side. Her shoes crunch over damp woodchips, ducking under a bridge of monkey bars before she sits on the edge of the seat. She has nearly a half an hour for Carly to show up, but that's okay with her. She burrows her head into her jacket and closes her eyes. The beer is still coated over tongue, bold and bitter. Teeth scrape against the muscle as if to grate the taste away.

She thinks about that one time when Carly and her were watching a scary movie a year ago on the Shay's couch. It was late and Carly was pressed tightly to Sam's side, eyes wide behind the cages of her fingers. Sam had laughed at her, called her a baby, even as her arm wound its way around the brunette's waist and pulled her closer. Carly's startled screams were muffled into her shoulder, fingers digging bruises into her skin, and Sam had turned her lips with a comforting kiss to Carly's head. It was the first time their affections toward each other were more than friendly and Sam hadn't even thought about it, had just done it, as natural as one foot in front of the other. Carly had given her a look, a strange lift of her eyebrow, but she hadn't pulled away. In fact, she snuggled closer, hot breath on Sam's neck.

They kissed for the first time a month later. They were in Socko's pool and Carly's pink bikini top was bobbing in the water as the two sprayed water at each other. Sam had grinned wickedly, snaked her legs around the other girl's slim hips and pulled her under. The sun was warm, the water was cold blue, and when they surfaced Sam was expecting a scold, a playful smack in her shoulder, but not a kiss. Definitely not a kiss. Carly's mouth tasted like chlorine and Sam's hands had pushed her roughly against the wall of the pool, next to the ladder, and shuddered with trapped nerves. It was the sound of the glass door sliding open behind them that made Sam pull away, Carly's face happily flushed, her finger braced against her mouth.

Secret.

It was a secret. A nicely kept secret. Because no one even looked twice at them - not Spencer, not Freddie. They had always been close friends. Sam touching Carly's back in the hallway at school or draping her head in her lap during iCarly practice or twirling her finger in the girl's hair wasn't unusual, so no one had any reason to be suspicious. It wasn't until they were alone, doors locked and curtains closed did they indulge in each other. Kissing and holding and touching and learning, discovery, giggles bubbling under Carly's sheets. They never really talked about the why or the how, it was just nice, and Carly seemed just as eager as Sam felt, so she never questioned it. Carly seemed to want it just as much as she did, so that was enough.

But Sam wanted to kiss Carly like the couples at school did. She wanted more than Carly's bedroom walls to be witness to what she knew was so beautiful. She wanted to prove to everyone around her that love did exist, even for a delinquent like her. She wanted to shove it in her mother's face, her teachers, Freddie. Carly was hers. The actions said more than the words did, and Sam was more than prepared to face every ugly thing that came their way if and when they -

"Sam."

Her eyes snap open, body jerking to the mere tone of the voice speaking to her through the whistling wind. Blue eyes slam on a slim body wrapped snugly in a purple jacket (_the same purple jacket_), arms over her chest. Sam's eyes hesitate at the girl's chin, so now used to avoiding her face - but then she's yanking them up. A flash of white teeth over those plump lips and the slope of her nose and then - yes, chocolate eyes, and, Jesus, (_it feels so good for her to look at you again_.)

Sam slides down the bench, making room, her eyes never once straying from the torn expression on Carly's face. Sam doesn't know how to read it - before all of this, the girl had been so easy to decipher. Every muscle in her eyebrow was a pen writing the words all over her skin. Sam didn't have to try and understand her before. But this is Carly, translated - a different language, a different alphabet, scrawled in handwriting she just can't quite figure out.

Carly sits beside her, teetering on the edge. Her hair looks so dark under the cloudy sky, it's almost black, billowing about her narrow shoulders and shielding her face. Sam's fingers twitch with the desire to brush it away, tuck it behind her ear, and draw closer. The wind is taking Carly's heat away and Sam has been deprived of it so long, she has to bite her tongue to keep from moving at all.

"I heard about what Freddie did to you at lunch. Threatening you in public like that." Carly's fingers are twisting in her lap, her head down, and all Sam can see through her hair is a slight twitch of her lips as she frowns. "I just ... I wanted to apologize. For him. To your face." She turns, dark eyes peeking through the gaps of her hair. "I'm sorry. He has good intentions, he just doesn't go about them the right way."

The beer in Sam's mouth suddenly makes her want to throw up. Apologizing for Freddie, that's what this is? Sam doesn't know what she expected, but with Carly, it's never what she thinks it should be. Her hands curl in her pockets and she looks away, at the trembling grass.

This is the same spot where Carly had touched her knee and said, _This will destroy both of our futures, Sam_.

Sam's future? What future? Sam's future was a blank, white page if Carly wasn't in it.

And she isn't. Not anymore. Carly had ended that chapter. Period, next page. No page. (_She's all you have_.)

"Do you love him?"

Sam doesn't realize that she's spoken it until it's already out. She blinks slowly, eyes raising to rest on the panic-stricken profile of Carly beside her. The brunette swallows, coming to a jerky stand. "That's not of your business."

"It is absolutely my business." Sam stands, too, knuckles popping like firecrackers in her pockets. "Do you? Do you say it back? You never did to me. Come on, Carly, I'm your best friend, right? Best friends tell each other everything. And lead each other on, and make each other believe that they're more than that -"

"Stop it."

"- and fuck each other. Did you know that? They mess around and have sex for almost a year and then leave for a stupid boy just because he _is_ a boy and leave me because it's too hard and you don't have the balls -"

"Shut up, Sam!"

Sam's eyes refocus. The world had gone hazy, Seattle had fizzled away and there was only her watching Carly walk away from this same park twenty-two days ago. Her heart is loud, her hands are sweating and they're out of her pockets, shuddering at her sides. Breaths break apart as they travel on mist above them.

"I didn't come here to fight with you." Carly's voice shakes, doe-like eyes so innocent and hurt it's hard to be mad at her, but Sam is. She's furious. She wants to push her, to rip up something inside of her like the throbbing wound weeping under her skin. She wants her to know what it feels like, what it really feels like to watch the back of someone you love fade into the distance and having absolutely no one else.

"You didn't have to come at all. You didn't have to ask me to come here. You told me to stay away from you and then out of nowhere you just want to meet - here, of all places - to apologize on behalf of fucking Benson? Do you think I'm a moron?" Sam's finger points accusingly across the space between them, so small, so easy to get rid of with one small step, but Carly is oceans away. "You miss me, Carly. You made a mistake and you know it."

Carly's lower lip quivers before she sucks it between her teeth. Her head shakes. "I just wanted to - I just ..." She gives a loud grunt, taking a step back. "I don't know. I haven't heard your voice or looked at you or -" (_touched you, tasted you_) "- I, I ..."

"You can fix this right now." Sam's hands flatten. "Leave Freddie. Forget about what other people think of you for five minutes and _come back_." Her voice breaks, cracks, shatters, and a sob is strangling inside of her, threatening to pour over her lips. "Fuck, Carly, please."

Carly's teeth tug and pull at her lips so hard Sam thinks they might start bleeding, and all she wants to do is sweep her hand over her cheek and kiss her, take her pain away. She wants to laugh under Carly's sheets, make love in dressing rooms, hear _I love you_ back.

"I do love Freddie," Carly says, and then she's twirling away and disappearing, again, leaving Sam, again, ripping her open again and again and again.

Sam drinks herself to sleep that night.

/

**February 14th, 2011**

"He got you flowers?"

Carly grins, her thumb brushing over one of the red petals of the already dying plants. Sam's chest is burning and it's not from the chilidog she had a few hours ago. It's from that goofy smile on Carly's lip, those stupid, smelly flowers, and the little handwritten note that Carly hasn't given her to read but knows is scribbled in Freddie's painfully perfect scrawl.

"What a nub." Sam swings her feet off of Carly's bed, making her way across the room in a few large steps. She bends at the waist in front of Carly, her thumb and forefinger taking the other girl's chin in a gentle hold. Their eyes meet, Carly's hand slipping away from the flowers to land in her lap, brown eyes dipping into blue. "Everyone knows that you're my valentine ..." Sam brings the girl closer, the smell of Shay's perfume swimming in her skull as she kisses her. Sam's has had her share of alcoholic beverages, but Carly's a whole different league of inebriation. This is what being truly drunk feels like.

Sam's hands tug her back to bed perhaps a little more roughly than usual. Carly only responds by grunting as her head hits the mattress, fingers already desperate to remove her clothes. Her back arches as the pink top is pulled away. Sam pants as she leans down, kissing the other girl's stomach, warm flesh soon dampened by her tongue. Carly's pants fly off, her breath hitching in her throat when Sam plucks away the girl's bra.

This is nearly a year of practice. The two are perfect at each other now.

Carly is soft in all the right places, angled in others, the map of her body perfectly plotted out in Sam's mind - bite here, suck here, lick this, pinch that. Sam's naked in seconds, Carly's hot hands roaming over her back, tangling in her hair as Sam's lips brush across the elastic of Carly's blue panties.

Freddie might have given her flowers, but Sam could give her this.

Carly tastes sweet and familiar on Sam's tongue as she flicks it against the girl's throbbing clit. Carly spasms, thighs trembling beside her face. Sam's hands pin them to the mattress. Soft sounds of pleasure quickly build as the pace of Sam's tongue climbs, her hips shaking, and Sam's eyes dart up to watch as Carly's palm presses tightly over her mouth as she comes.

Sam backs off, smiling, sliding up the girl's body to litter the trembling skin with soft kisses, scissoring their legs. Carly's hazy eyes flutter open, her smile dreamy, hands slipping up Sam's arms to hook around her shoulders. She sits up, pushing the blonde on her back, keeping their legs entwined and pushing their aching cores together. Sam moans, stars creeping over her eyes as her nails dig deep into Carly's hips, pushing up as the girl presses down. The delicious friction sparks a fire inside of Sam, a quick rhythm grinding hard against her as Carly takes the lead, their moans colliding in the room. Sam comes with an explosion of white behind her eyes and Carly laughs breathlessly as she sinks beside her on the bed, an arm over her stomach.

"I love you," Sam whispers, because it's true, because she has to say it, because it has to be out there. She's just hoping that if she says it enough and proves that she really means it, Carly might whisper back to her, even if it's just in the safety of her room.

But she's stiff again, stone, and she slips out of the bed, wraps herself in a robe, and leaves the room. The faint thunder of the shower running meets Sam's ears as she lays there, motionless, eyes boring into the ceiling.

(_You hope she isn't washing your touch off of her_.)

/

**March 18, 2011**

_Dyke._

It doesn't sting as much anymore. Sam shuts her locker door with a slam, her eyes darting over to the source of the word. That particular insult started sprouting up shortly after (_when you found Carly under Freddie_). Sam figures Freddie and Carly have talked about her before and she doesn't put it past Freddie to come to the conclusion that Sam is in love with Carly - a smart conclusion for an equally smart boy, though he's pretty late on that news. Still. Freddie has more friends now, too, other than Carly - guy friends that would slobber at juicy gossip like Sam Puckett maybe being a lesbian. And so it stuck.

It's a group of girls, all younger than her, all weaker, all so easy to beat up, Sam thinks, though her hands remain limp at her sides. It could have been any of them, but considering the redhead in the middle swallowing thickly and looking away, Sam has a pretty good guess on who dared to speak up.

Sam thinks about how good it would feel to cross the hall and punch that stupid girl's eyes straight into the back of her head. She could, right now. She had nothing to lose, really. There was no Carly to scold her, to tell her to be the bigger person, no Freddie to remind her how fragile her relationship with the school already is, nobody. Fuck school. It's the only reason anyone has done anything to her for the past few weeks; they all know she's on her last strike. One more slip-up and Sam is out. Done. Juvie, or worse.

Her gaze burns holes in the redhead's face. She isn't worth it, Sam decides, choosing to ignore the fact how those words sounded eerily like Carly had said them. If Sam was going to be expelled, it was going to be for a damn good reason and not for some ignorant underclassmen who thought she was tough shit.

Students flood out of the building, barreling toward their buses, cars. Sam takes to the sidewalk, not wanting to spend anymore time surrounded by idiots in a confined space than she absolutely has to. That, and her ability to resist smashing everyone she saw into the nearest wall was wearing thin. This is better. This is safe. Sam shoves her earphones into her head and swivels her thumb on her iPod until the music drowns out the streets, her footsteps, her heartbeat. It's not a long walk, but Sam can't remember the last time she finished a whole meal, or when she last ate at all, and she finds herself wishing she had taken the bus if just so she could collapse already, her tired legs dragging against the sidewalk.

A rough tug of her shoulder pulls her out of the music, her instincts kicking in first, elbow slamming backward. It connects with a broad, flat chest, the blonde whipping around. One hand is already raised, a fist balled upward, while the other yanks the white buds out of her ears, normal sounds crashing against her once more. Sam stops, eyebrows meeting over her nose. "Spencer?"

The man is holding his chest tenderly, face contorted. "That hurt! Jeez." He rubs his sternum gently.

(_He looks so much like her. The same little nose, dark eyes, even the same God damn shade of brown hair._)

Sam lowers her fist. "What are you doing?"

Spencer frowns at her. Beside him is his car, hastily parked on the side of the road. The driver side door is still open. He huffs, jerking his thumb over to it. "Do you want a ride home? I was just at your place looking for you but your mom said you hadn't come home yet."

Sam mirrors his frown, her hands curling around the straps of her backpack. "Is something wrong? Is Carly all right?" It's naturally her first concern. She hasn't seen Spencer since, God, early February? Another ghost, coming back to haunt her. Sam feels her foot start to slide back.

"She's fine. Well, 'fine'." His fingers hook quotation marks in the air. "In that she's alive, you know, but not, like, she's not okay, if that's what you're asking."

It is what she's asking. Sam's head hangs for a moment, eyes on her shoes. It makes sense that Spencer would come to her. Sam is - was - (_is_) - Carly's best friend. Sam should know how to help. She bites her lip hard. But it's not that easy. There are things Spencer doesn't know - that no one knows, that she's not supposed to tell. Carly had made that clear from the first time in Socko's pool, grinning over the bar of her finger.

She sighs before stepping toward Spencer's car. The man eagerly follows, dropping into the driver's seat as Sam slides beside him. The smell assaults her boldly - the smell of the Shays, of their apartment, their laundry detergent, _them_. It hits Sam so hard she doesn't breathe for a moment, her brain rattling with visions of the past. Her and Carly, climbing into the back seat of this very car when they had gone camping together last summer. Spencer and Socko were fishing. They were alone. The car had been hot and stuffy but Carly looked so nice with her white legs disappearing up her short shorts wrapping around Sam's waist and how she tasted like the cherry tootsie pop she had been licking suggestively earlier and -

"Carly's been acting weird for the past couple weeks." Spencer tears out of the parking spot, whipping an illegal U-turn to start heading back toward her apartment. Sam sinks into the seat, her hands pinched between her knees. "She doesn't talk to me anymore. She just goes up in her room after she gets home from school and stays there all day. I haven't seen her smile in such a long time, and most of all ..." Spencer's looking at her and Sam doesn't have to glance up to confirm that. "You haven't been over in, like, a month."

Sam nods. "I know."

"Did you guys fight? What's going on?"

Sam could tell him. She has a mouth and a voice and a tongue and she could spill it all out right now. The words would coat the dashboard and Spencer would be all wide eyed and shocked because no one expects anything poor to come out of Carly, nothing as scandalous as having sex with her best friend and then dumping her because _the world is mean, this will destroy both of our futures, Sam._

The world is mean, that much is true. But that doesn't mean Carly has to be like the rest of the world.

"You could call it that," Sam finally replies. The wound inside of her is throbbing again. She wants to drink. She wants to sink into her bed and bury herself under the covers and drink herself into a drunken sleep.

"I don't like how much time she's spending alone. And when she's not alone, she's with Freddie, and I ..." Spencer sighs. "He's a nice kid, but I ... I never had to worry about those two before because you were always with Carly, and I knew you wouldn't let him come anywhere close to her like that but now ..." His fingers clench the steering wheel. "I just want things for you guys to go back to normal."

Sam wonders what that means, normal. Does it mean before Carly kissed her in the pool? Or before Carly left her at the park? Before they met Freddie? (_Before she met you?_)

Sam doesn't know where that word applies anymore.

"Carly told me to stay away from her." Sam's eyes close for a moment. Carly is crying. Seattle is weeping behind her. Her mouth is moving but Sam can't hear her over the thunder of blood in her ears.

_Stay away from me, Sam._

"Why?"

Sam had asked that same question. Carly had shaken her head and touched Sam's knee. _You don't get it. The world is mean. This will destroy both of our futures. We can't do this anymore. _

"Sam?"

_It was just for fun. You're still my best friend. You'll always be my best friend. But you need to stay away from me, Sam. At least for a while. _

"Sam."

She opens her eyes. They're parked, Sam's apartment building looming over them. Sam grabs the door handle and throws it open, breathing in car exhaust and cigarette smoke from a pair of her neighbors leaning against the entrance. Her leg is already half way out of the car when Spencer's fingers curl around her shoulder, pulling her back.

"Why, Sam? Why did Carly tell you to stay away from her?"

"Because I love her!" The words slam out of Sam's mouth, tears bursting out of her eyes. They sting her cheeks before clinging to her chin like her last desperate chance to hold it together, to keep herself from busting at the seams, but this car and the smell and Spencer pushes her right over an edge she didn't know she was teetering off of. "Because I love her and she's trying to convince herself she doesn't love me back. That's why."

Spencer's eyes are wide, confused, his fingers relaxing just enough for Sam to tear out of the car and bound into the apartment building.

She doesn't even make it up the stairs. The wound is new again, gaping open and spilling blood all over her insides. Sam crashes on the first landing and snakes her fingers into her hair, yanking, biting back screams.

(_She took away your future._)

/

**February 17th, 2011**

Weird.

Sam shuts her phone. Carly didn't answer. It's Saturday. They almost always meet up on Saturdays. Sam runs her thumb over the glowing keys of her phone before shrugging. Whatever. She's already a block away, and if she's not there, then Sam will just sit on her couch and eat her food until she comes back. She knows where the Shays hide their extra key. She's done it before, no big deal. The Shay house has always been her home - not her home away from home, because the apartment she shares with her mother is little more than a warzone she tries to avoid as much as possible. It's just a roof over a mattress she occasionally sleeps in. It's not the safe haven she has at Carly's place.

To her surprise, the Shay's front door isn't locked when she finally gets there, pulling her damp hood off of her head. Even more weird. That means someone has got to be home. She pushes the door open, frowning as she's met with a dim, and most of all empty, living room. Frowning, she kicks the door shut behind her. "Carly? Spencer?"

She's met with nothing but the hum of the fridge. Her stomach growls as if replying to it, the blonde rubbing her stomach and sauntering over to the fridge. No matter. They probably just forgot to lock the door. Wherever they went, they'll be back soon. Pulling out a half eaten sandwich, Sam takes a few bites and sighs, leaning against the kitchen counter. Carly had been particularly distant the past few days and Sam wanted to remedy that. She missed just talking with Carly. Lately things were all physical, and as much as Sam enjoyed those interactions, and as much as Carly seemed to enjoy them, too, she still wanted to indulge in the things all best friends do - share with each other. It sounds like some corny after school special moral, but Sam genuinely liked Carly's company, naked or not. Carly became her best friend long before Sam hit puberty and hormones started pointing out things like how attractive Carly is. Carly is also loyal and honest and kind and treats her like a person, like she matters, and she is probably the only good influence Sam has at all. Her dad died before she even understood what that meant and her mom is an unemployed alcoholic who spends their welfare money on booze and God knows what else.

Carly is the only reason Sam isn't trying to fit into her mother's shoes; the only reason Sam doesn't want to be like her mom.

Their relationship was never supposed to be just sex. Sam never wanted that. That was just supposed to be a bonus. In her wildest, fairy-tale dreams, Carly and her would do all of those normal things couples usually did - they would change their relationship status on Facebook, they would hold hands in the hallway, Sam would slow dance with her at prom and Carly would say _I love you_ back.

And it's been a long time now, Sam understands, but she's willing to wait because she's convinced that Carly is just scared - scared of people, of society, of the world and what it thinks of her. Unlike Sam, Carly has always wanted everyone to like her, to do the right thing, to be successful. Those things didn't matter to Sam as much as being happy did, and as long as Carly was a part of her life, she always would be.

A thump above her makes Sam's back stiffen. Her head tilts up, a frown coming to her lips again. It could be just the apartment settling or something, she thinks, setting the sandwich down. But - she gasps lightly. The door had been unlocked. What if someone had crept in while the Shays were out?

Burglars are easy, Sam thinks, as her hands ball at her sides, slinking up the stairs. More than one creep had tried to jimmy their way into her apartment, which made no sense, considering they lived on the slum side of Seattle and obviously owned nothing all that valuable, but robbers weren't exactly the smartest of criminals. Sam had knocked quite a few teeth out that way. Carly had considerable more things worth stealing, however, so Sam tip-toed down the hallway with caution. Richer neighborhood, possibly smarter thieves.

She didn't hear any more thumps, but there was movement coming from Carly's room. Sam's mouth sets firmly - why would the burglars go there? There was plenty of valuables in the living room and Spencer's room downstairs. Maybe Carly was home? Sam lowers her fists, her feet sliding on the bare floor of the hallway until her palms are against Carly's closed door. Her ear presses against the wood and - definitely movement. It sounds like ... like her covers shifting around. Sam knows that sound like her own heartbeat, her throat strangling as she hears a moan filter through the door and it's not hers.

It's not even a girl's.

Sam's body reacts without her mind behind it. Her hand curls around the doorknob and throws it open so hard it cracks on the wall. Sam's body freezes - the first thing her eyes register is thick, tan arms around Carly's bare waist, and then the curve of her breast, and her flushed neck, and Freddie's -

Freddie.

Freddie, a deer in the headlights.

Carly is saying her name. The blankets are moving again, covering her up. Sam's feet stumble back, her body taking over, but something inside of her is tearing open, ripping brilliantly under her ribs.

(_You need to run. Now. Go_.)

But she can't move, locked in place, bones jammed. Freddie is scrambling off of her, reaching for his clothes, and Carly is standing up, the blanket wrapped around her like a toga and even now, with panic brimming over her eyes, Sam thinks she looks so beautiful.

Carly stumbles toward the door and Sam's body unlocks, her muscles springing her into a run. She slams down the stairs, her vision blurry and her knees weak. She falters down the last three, losing her footing, her knee banging hard off the floor. Her teeth grit as she pushes herself up again, a choked sob strangling her - it hurts so much, it feels like she's bleeding, like she was scraped open raw -

"Sam, please, stop!"

A hand on her elbow. Carly's weak, Sam knows she is, and she knows she could rip out of her grasp easy if she wanted to. But the warmth from her touch is a drug she didn't know she was addicted to, melting under it and turning to face the girl, tears pricking her eyes. Carly is crying as well, her cheeks wet as she clutches to Sam with both hands. Her head is shaking, brown hair stuck to the tracks of her tears.

"I just - I just wanted to be normal, Sam. I just wanted things to be _easy_." Carly whimpers, holding Sam so hard it hurts.

"You -" Sam's voice chokes. Her free hand plants itself over Carly's cheek, fingers hooked behind her ear, pulling her closer. "You want Freddie because it's easier?"

Carly's eyes squeeze shut. "He's a boy, Sam! It's easier, it's ... it's safer, we can't, _we can't_ anymore -"

(_You can. She won't_.)

"You're an idiot, Carly. You're an idiot." Sam's chest clutches inward as her eyes dart over Carly's shoulder to see Freddie, only in his pants, standing awkwardly on the stairwell. Sam pulls back - it's a secret, her and Carly, after all - and out she goes, out into the hall, down the stairs, out of the apartment, into the rain.

No one notices that she's crying as she walks home.

/

**March 20th, 2011**

Freddie is holding her hand under the desks. He's smiling, laughing, tugging her closer.

Carly's face is blank.

Sam tears her gaze away from the pair. This is the only class the three have together. It used to be a time where they all fooled around and joked, back when Sam was one of them. When they still did iCarly as a team and Carly and her were still a pretty secret that Sam didn't mind having. Sam chews the inside of her lip and stares at the teacher as she sweeps into action. Sam thought it was hard focusing before, when she hated school just because she believed it was a waste of time, but now that Carly and Freddie are at her back, all she can think of is their hands locked together under the desks.

(_She never did that with you_.)

Sam's teeth are grinding. She pops open her jaw and rubs her sore cheek, sighing into her palm. Maybe juvie isn't so bad, she thinks bitterly. It would mean not having to see either of them, any of these kids, no one but strangers. She could be as violent as she knew she could be. Fuck consequences. Her future had been erased the minute Carly stepped out of it, anyway. There was nothing left.

The hour blurs by and Sam stuffs her worksheet into her folder as the bell rings, having no intention of even looking at it until the next day. She slinks out of the classroom, Freddie's voice booming loudly behind her, like he's mocking her.

Carly's right, though. Being with Freddie is easier. They can hold hands. They can kiss. They can change their Facebook relationship status and slow dance at prom. It was easy, it was safe.

Sam hated that, but it was true. Carly is making the decision that's in her best interest.

(_But you don't have to like it_.)

A hard shoulder slams into Sam's. So lost in her thoughts, Sam's only reaction is to fall, her knees slamming against the hard linoleum. Her books scatter as her palms flatten against the floor, bracing herself. Laughter erupts, Sam's shoulders growing tense as she pushes herself back to her knees. Her hands swiftly push her books together, gathering them in the crook of her elbow. Reaching for the last book, her grasp is interrupted by a foot kicking it out of the way, followed by some ignorant phrase about her being a carpet muncher and a shock of laughter, but Sam isn't sure because the drums of war are beating in her head.

She's up on her feet so fast, she almost misses the motion herself. Her hand is already in a fist and her blue eyes are locked like a deadbolt on the face of a startled, stupid boy, his mouth slack and his eyes wide. Sam isn't thinking about school, about getting through the year without getting in any more trouble, or about being scolded by anyone, or expulsion, or juvie, she's just thinking about this stupid kid and the way he's rubbed her wound the wrong way.

Her arm rears back, knuckles clicking into a tighter fist and then it's sailing, and it's going to hit him right under his nose, and hopefully it'll break, she thinks, watching as her balled hand begins to rain down and then -

"Sam!"

Hands clench on her shoulder. The punch is thrown off, directed down, Sam's feet stumbling as the weight nearly pushes her over. Her eyes are still blazing, her head turning wildly to search for the source of her missed assault when her eyes meet terrified brown.

Carly's hands tighten around her arm. "Don't."

Sam's eyes dart down in disbelief at the white, skinny fingers digging into her arm.

"Be the bigger person."

Their eyes meet again. The boy has long since sprinted away, the crowd milling by in disappointment. There is no fight here.

But there is this. Them. Carly touching her, looking at her, and Sam can see through that fear that has so firmly rooted itself within her best friend - how much she wants nothing more than to stay here.

Sam pulls herself away. But Carly had already made her decision. The right decision. The easy, safe one. And he is standing just behind Carly, his hand reaching out to take her shoulder.

"You better watch it, Sam," he's saying, pulling Carly away from her. "One more fight and you're going to get expelled."

Just like it used to be. Just like it should have always been. Even Freddie's eyes are soft with concern when Sam just stands there, not saying anything, her eyes dancing between the two. They draw back, slowly molding in the crowd, but Carly's eyes don't turn away, staying locked with some degree of longing simmering within them.

_I do love Freddie_, she had said.

Sam knows now that that is definitely a lie.

/

**February 19th, 2011**

_We need to talk, please. Stanley Park, half an hour?_

Sam throws her phone against the wall. Her mother yells at her for the noise and then it's just Sam with her fists at her sides, glaring at the now dark phone, its battery laying beside it. She feels the wound pulse hard against her, lips pinning shut so another sob doesn't escape.

Fuck her. Fuck _her_.

Five minutes later, she's out the door. She ignores the gray sky, the possibility of the rain, and the cold wind crawling over her skin. And maybe that's foolish and stupid, but damn if she isn't in love with Carly Shay. Damn if she isn't willing to look past everything, to forgive her, if only so Carly will touch her again, hug her, kiss her, say _I love you_, if just once. Sam's breath billows out of her in tufts of steam, rolling into the gray Seattle sky.

The park is mostly deserted, a few frowning parents glaring upward like they just figured out it rains a lot here. But Sam doesn't even have the energy to say something nasty about them as she winds her way toward the closest empty bench, bare arms sprinkled in goosebumps. She's early, but another moment in her house and she would be trying to tear out her hair again, or contemplating having a beer, or taking whatever money she could find and buying a bus ticket to Away From Here.

Even the thought of running away and not coming back both rips her open and soothes her at the same time. Never seen Carly again would be both a blessing and a curse. Maybe she'll see her this last time, try to tattoo over the image of Carly naked under Freddie with her against a dull Seattle afternoon instead. The girl is always beautiful, even when she's crying, even when she's about to snap. It's a quality about her that Sam has never understood but has always adored.

When she looks up again, the family is gone, the wind whistling hollowly through the empty yellow and blue playground equipment. Sam readjusts on the bench, ducking her head slightly. She's tried to keep her mind busy with everything she possibly can for the past few days, but nothing seems to distract her - it simply reminds her that she's trying to distract herself, and then's back to curling up in a ball and pressing her hands against her ribs, as if she thinks she'll burst if she doesn't.

(_You fee like that. Like bursting_.)

Sam doesn't hear her. She's just there, sitting beside her, in a purple jacket. Sam doesn't jump, doesn't meet her eyes, just stares at her feet, the grass, the woodchips close by.

"Did you ever -" The words come out before Same can stop them. Her lips sink into her mouth for a moment, something shaking inside of her. She releases a long breath. "Did you ever care about me? At all?"

"I do care about you." Carly's voice is thick with sincerity. "More than anything."

Sam's elbows brace on her knees. "You have a lousy way of showing it."

"Sam."

The blonde can't help it. She breaks and looks at her, those brown eyes shadowed by the purple bags under her eyes. Her pale hand reaches out, landing on Sam's knee. It's warm.

"You don't get it. The world is mean. This will destroy both of our futures. We can't do this anymore." Her words choke and stick in her throat, her hand shaking and Sam can feel the tremors through the girl's hand on her knee, the wound weeping silently.

"Why?" It's a stupid question, rasped under her breath. Sam's hands clench together tightly in their urge to both push her away and (_you need her so much closer_).

"It was just for fun. You're still my best friend." Carly's fingers tighten. "You'll always be my best friend. But you need to stay away from me, Sam. At least for awhile."

She's crying now. Sam doesn't look at her, mostly because she's crying, too, her tears creating dark spots on the denim of her jeans.

"Fine." Sam stands. Carly's hand clutches hers but the blonde refuses to look back. _Stay away from me_, she had said.

Carly always did the right thing. If this is what Carly had decided to do, it had to be right. It had to be good. Sam didn't know the Carly that would do anything otherwise. She takes a step forward and Carly's hand slips away and the sky grumbles as if in disappointment above her as she walks home.

/

**March 20th, 2011**

"There were two beers in here! Samantha!"

Sam twirls the last glass bottle on the edge of her computer desk, smirking faintly. Two beers was nothing for a Puckett, really, but there was a pleasant hum in the back of her head. The edges of her wound were numb and fuzzy, like when your foot falls asleep from sitting on it too long. Her mother pounds on her door, but the lock prevents her from entering. Sam screams at her to fuck off and she does, the apartment falling silent with the final boom of the front door slamming shut, her mother off to buy more beer with what was left of their welfare.

She tugs her headphones out of the speakers and presses play on the video again - some cheaply made porno with a blonde and a girl who looks a little like Carly. Sam's fingers crawl beneath her pajama shorts, head cocking back to rest on the edge of her chair. The brunette is too loud for Sam's liking, and the blonde keeps calling her 'baby' which puts Sam off a little bit, but when the Carly lookalike closes her eyes and moans, it almost, _almost_ sounds real, like she means it.

Sam's fingers slip inside of her, a gasp flushing out of her lungs. Her eyes fall closed to the soundtrack of foreign moans of pleasure that are pitched just a bit too high to pass as Carly's. She thinks about their first time, fumbling but not awkward. When they slipped up they had laughed, Carly's cheeks a blazing red and Sam's hands shaking as she touched her for the first time. Carly's body had jolted like Sam's fingers were sparking with electricity. (_She had whimpered your name_.)

Sam's climax is mediocre, lousy and weak, but it's enough to put her in a dull haze, enough to fall asleep without being plagued by her ghosts.

She climbs into her bed after slapping the lights off, relishing in the dark (_really, you're getting kind of sad_) and Sam's almost snagged into the comfort of unconsciousness when she hears the front door opening again. It hadn't been that long since her mom left, at least, Sam doesn't think so, but maybe she just got there and back or Sam had dozed or something. It's hard to tell after a few beers. Her eyes flutter closed again, her breathing starting to deepen when knuckles roll on her door.

The blonde hurtles back to full alertness, sitting up in her bed. "I said fuck off, Mom!"

"... S-Sam?"

Her heart gives a loud bang against the wound in her chest. She flings the blankets away, scrambling out of her bed and throwing the door open. Carly is ringed in the orange light of her hallway, eyes puffy and red.

"Carly? What are you -"

The girl crushes against her, thin arms wrapping tightly about her torso. Sam is frozen for several moments, mouth hanging open, the smell of Carly and her apartment and her bed and _her_ swimming inside of her, chasing away everything else. Sam's arms lock around the other girl, drawing her to her chest, over that unseen wound, Carly becoming the bandaid for the very injury she caused.

Carly is mumbling apologies into her neck, a mess of sobs and broken phrases. "Spencer told me - he said I was making a mistake - I just didn't want - I was scared - Sam - Sam - scared, I was so scared - I'm an idiot, like you said - scared - so _sorry_ -"

"Shh, Carls." The nickname feels warm on her tongue. She pulls the girl tighter to her chest, blinking hard, just to make sure this isn't some vivid, drunken dream. But Carly is warm against her, and her smell, and her hot tears hitting Sam's shoulder - it was all real. This is all real. Her fingers flatten on the back of Carly's head, pulling her back, meeting those weeping brown eyes. She's no longer a ghost - she's solid, and real, and she's crying for her. Sam's thumbs brush away her tears, bringing their lips together, the kiss soft and long overdue.

"I was afraid," Carly whispers against her mouth, lips trembling, the words ached and tired. "I was an idiot and I was afraid."

"It's okay." It is okay. Sam doesn't care. She never cared about anyone else or what they thought and Carly always had, but she was here now, and that was something, that was something she could hold on to. Sam kisses her again, each pause a broken breath, a soft_ it's okay_ whispered against the brunette's lips. Her hands guide the girl by the hips to her bed, Sam crawling on top of her. She can't kiss her hard enough, long enough, can't taste enough of her all at once, can't touch her enough, can't get her clothes off fast enough, can't get her own off quick enough -

(_She's yours_.)

Sam crushes their lips together with a hot moan, Carly's naked body warm and trembling beneath her, like it should always be. Sam's hands are calloused and tough, not like Freddie's, and Carly's body sparks to life beneath them like she's a puppeteer and she's pulling all the right strings. Carly pants heavily as Sam kisses her neck, her collarbone, sucks on a taut nipple.

"_Sam_."

The voice within her is no longer dark, no longer slimy. The wound is stitching up with each graze of her lips, each moan, each whimper. It's painful pulse is fading into Carly's name, etching into her ribs, a permanent brand.

Carly's hips buck forward as Sam's tongue flicks against her clit, a finger slipping inside of her. Fingers twist in Sam's hair, the pain different from when she had inflicted it upon herself - this was the reaction to pleasure, this was Carly telling her that she wanted her, needed her, as much as Sam did. Sam's eyes close as she breathes her in, tastes her, brings her to the brink and then forces her off.

Carly is trembling violently, hot sweat collecting over her skin, and Sam pauses, admiring her in the dull light of her room. The girl's pupils are so wide they're nearly black, petal-pink lips plump and damp. Sam kisses them again, her tongue sweeping inside of her mouth. Carly is quick to recover, rolling the girl over and turning around, hands on either side of Sam's hips and her knees beside Sam's face. Sam laps her tongue upward, over the slick lips of the girl's still aching core, a moan vibrating against Sam's thighs as Carly dives between them. Hot pleasure shocks the blonde, having not felt anything in so long it's almost like being touched for the first time.

Her body is raw, played perfectly by Carly's familiar tongue. Sam groans against the brunette's center, tongue testing that still sensitive nub. Carly's fingernails sink into Sam's hips, stilling them, her tongue rapidly firing against her. The blonde cries, squirming as stars explode behind her eyelids, a high-pitched scream riding out of her waves of ecstasy. She whimpers as her climax echoes in her body, the wound sealing as her fingers dive into Carly once more. The already weakened girl comes fast and hard, her teeth gnawing into the side of Sam's knee as she does.

Carly crashes beside her, lips on her shoulder, breathing erratic. Sam stares at her profile, swept by her dark hair. She brushes her lips over the girl's forehead, her breath building to say those words she has said a dozen times -

"I love you."

Sam's body freezes. The words collide in her ears, swimming around her skull, that sweet voice saying them over and over._ I love you I love you I love you_.

Carly is tense beside her. Sam's hand drifts to the girl's chin, pulling her up, and brown eyes lock into blue.

"I love you, too," Sam whispers, and she kisses her, and she can taste herself in the girl's mouth and suddenly she's hot again, rolling on top of her, pushing her against the pillows.

Through the dim light, Sam can see Carly smiling. Her heart swells.

Carly tells Sam she loves her what feels like a hundred more times that night, like she's making up for lost time. And she cries, and she begs for forgiveness Sam has already given her, and when it's late and the night sky is waning, they talk about what needs to be done, about Freddie and Spencer, about them, about the future.

"It's not destroyed," Carly whispers against her collarbone, finally pulling the blankets over the two of them. Sam's arms close around her torso.

"Not at all," Sam agrees, and she falls asleep with a faint smile and a healing scar instead of a wound.

/

**March 24th, 2011**

_Samantha Puckett is in a relationship with Carly Shay._

/

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** _It's so nice to get back into the iCarly fandom again with a monster of a Cam story._

_It's long, I know, but the length was necessary, and I so enjoyed writing it. I hope you liked it!_

_Reviews would be ever so lovely. _


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